


Behind His Kind, Polite Face

by doobieace



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Character Study, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Season/Series 03, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Social Anxiety, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2018-12-19 14:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11899980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doobieace/pseuds/doobieace
Summary: Struggling with social issues and a burgeoning sexuality, Wesley feels awkward and isolated on the Enterprise. His low self-esteem compels him into a relationship with his rapist.(Underage tag: Wesley is seventeen)





	1. Unburied

**Author's Note:**

> Know that I adore Wesley Crusher, and put him through this dark situation to explore his character's insecurities and weaknesses that flesh him out as a person. What largely inspires my interpretation of Wesley's character here comes from a quote by Wil Wheaton in an appendix of his book _Just a Geek_ :
> 
> "Wesley and I were very similar...we were both teenagers who were pretty smart and pretty skilled. Matter of fact, we were both smart enough and skilled enough to work alongside adults and hold our own with them professionally. At the same time, neither one of us had the grace, maturity, or wisdom to hold our own with them socially or emotionally, and that created lots of conflicts. By not exploring that side of Wesley...the writers took a lot of his humanity away from him (257)."
> 
> Heed the tags, and know that I like happy endings.

After a shift at the conn, Wesley was lethargic and wanted to skip his date with Suzanne Dumont. He had a project to catch up on, some trials to run on a lab experiment, and it would be a better use of his time if he could just work on his assignment and get it submitted in time.

As Wesley made his way back to his quarters, with each step he solidified his decision. He would contact Suzanne and cancel their second date. They would stay friends, and he’d avoid making any more dates in the future. 

_The first date had gone so well,_ Wesley thought around his growing headache. A stroll through the arboretum and a small kiss goodnight. A perfect date, one that he could brag about to anyone who’d listen. And yet - Wes felt a pit in his stomach when it came to the kiss. Suzanne had made the move, aiming directly for his lips and capturing them in a smack that would bruise. She clutched at his skinny arm with one hand and grabbed the back of his neck with the other, and Wesley had just stood there following along, but mentally still and waiting for it to be over.

Maybe he hadn’t liked how forward she was, so direct. A quick kiss on the cheek would have sufficed for a first date. Suzanne seemed to have her own agenda, though, and Wesley didn’t want to know what a second date would look like to her.

When he reached his shared quarters, he was alone; his mother was still on duty. Wesley walked through the sitting room and into his bedroom, where he sat at his wide desk. On it was a piece of rudimentary engine hardware that Lt. Commander La Forge had let Wesley keep when it short-circuited a while ago. Wesley had made an experimental project out of it, with the goal to get most of it functioning again using improvised additions, but it was idle work that mostly kept his hands busy when he was too tired to concentrate.

Going on dates was something he was expected to do. As soon as his mother had returned, it was all about how Dr. Crusher worried that her son was isolating himself from other kids and potential girlfriends. She worried about Wesley working so much. It was if suddenly his intellectual achievements and career aspirations weren’t enough, as if being an acting ensign and the top of his class was worthless compared to a social life. The only way to keep his mother’s approval, it now seemed, was to be a golden boy socialite. So, Wesley made more of an effort to meet up with his peers. He agreed when girls asked him out on dates.

This didn’t go as well as Wesley made it seem to his mother or the senior officers, to whom he would nonchalantly mention hang-outs or dates he let on about having later.

His male peers mostly disliked him, or at least didn’t trust him. Whenever Wesley had required group work for school, nobody listened to him, dismissing him as a goody-goody who would probably kiss anyone’s ass to get ahead. So, no, Wesley didn’t have many friends, but put forth an effort with the guys who merely tolerated him. At the least, then, girls were nice to him.

Still, he had trouble moving past first dates.

There were two other girls he had “dumped” (if you could call it that) after a first date. He tried only to be kind to everyone, but he worried that the girls he dated would start spreading talk about his reticence. No doubt, the guys at school would start gossiping about how Wesley Crusher is a prude who’s so afraid to put out he won’t even go on a second date. 

The flat piece of metal in his right hand slipped, and the precision screw he had been turning with his left hand slipped with it, and Wesley jabbed his right thumb. Wesley swore and slammed the equipment down, reaching for the medkit under his bed to treat the cut. 

Sitting on his bed, wiping the blood off the cut with a sterile cloth, Wesley paused to consider the cut. Not a long cut, but deep. He sighed. He got out his dermal regenerator (one he wasn’t technically allowed to have but it was a broken one logged out and put on a pile for replicator recycling that Wesley fixed, so hey, he figured he could keep it fair and square), but then he paused. His tired eyes looked back at the sharp precision screw, and he picked that up instead. He let the sharp edge make the cut on his thumb longer. Wesley stared at it, his sluggish brain lagging and feeling disconnected from the actions. There was just the stinging in his thumb.

The front door to the apartment whooshed open, and Wesley’s mind caught up to the present. “Lights,” he called quickly, and the dim lighting went out. Wesley got under the covers and pretended to sleep, which wasn’t very difficult at all.

Beverly Crusher walked in, returning to get a change of clothes before a calisthenics session with Deanna. Noticing Wesley’s room was dark, she peered in and saw the vague shape of her son sleeping in bed. 

_Well that’s odd,_ Beverly thought. _Doesn’t he have a date tonight?_

Perhaps it wasn’t so strange. Wesley is always saying how many responsibilities he has, and he has probably just been working himself a little too hard. She would have to have a talk with him about that. Wesley wouldn’t offer his mother much about how he was doing nowadays, aside from the quick statements he offered her about where he was going or what he was doing later. Frowning, she turned away to her room.

As of late, Beverly hadn’t been getting much quality time with her son. Their relationship had been strained slightly ever since her year away at Starfleet Medical, but they still managed to share some dinners once in awhile. Well - for now, she would let him rest. He was probably too tired to go on his date and had to cancel it. Even if he felt terrible doing so, it was good that he was taking care and giving himself a break when he needed one.

Beverly smiled to herself out of pride for her responsible young man, and quietly left as she passed his door. 

Wesley waited for a moment in the dark, then he called on the lights, sat up in bed, and fixed the cut immediately. Once that was done, he laid back down in bed and stared at the ceiling in concern. He’s just tired, is all. _Once I get some sleep, I’ll feel better,_ he reasoned.

Wesley burst awake just after he felt he had fallen asleep. He felt clammy and itchy and wrong, and his mind spun with the impressions of images and feelings. A hand clutching the back of his neck, a heavy weight pinning his legs so he couldn’t move, and an internal paralyzing fear...

He felt like throwing up. This had been the most vivid nightmare yet.

Shaking, Wesley rasped “Water” at the replicator and padded to the bathroom. He splashed his hands and face with warm water, and tried to drink out of the cool glass from the replicator. His hands shook and it was awkward to swallow, as if his throat had forgotten how to drink properly. Tears started to well up in his eyes, and Wesley felt as if something stuck was pulling at the back of his throat.

He sat on the bathroom floor for a long time, staring blearily at nothing in particular. Glancing at his thumb, Wesley saw how completely normal and unscarred it looked, no evidence of wound, pain, or dermal regenerator. A sob tore out, unbidden, from inside him.


	2. Crossing the Threshold

By the time he had to leave for his next duty shift, Wesley felt drained. He tried to keep his mind empty of any thoughts, especially the most upsetting ones that tried to climb up and dig their claws into him. His gray suit was freshly pressed, but Wesley had done his meager best with everything else. In the mirror his face was colorless, and his hair disheveled. 

And yet, he didn’t mind working at the helm at a time like this. It wasn’t overly complicated, and Wesley had logged in so many hours helping pilot the _Enterprise_ that he could do it half asleep. That’s just what he was about to do.

When the course was laid in, Wesley had little to do but make occasional adjustments. Sure, he was usually more “on” than how he was now, but he could get by. He was starting to zone out when Data spoke up.

“Sir, there seems to be a miniature nebula ahead along our path. I suggest we adjust course.”

“Granted,” Picard replied. “Mr. Crusher, adjust course. Let’s try to pass by the nebula at enough of a distance, but still at view range when we pass it.”

“Aye sir,” Wesley intoned.

The nebula was made of smokey pinks and greens, glowing benignly in space. They neared closer and Captain Picard had them slow to impulse. As they passed by, Commander Riker walked up behind Wesley’s chair.

“Pretty stunning,” Riker said, as if in awe. 

“Indeed, Number One.”

“How ‘bout it, Wes?” Riker was suddenly looking down at Wesley, hand at the back of his chair. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and the blue irises shone brighter than any nebula Wesley had ever seen. The acting ensign reluctantly glanced at the viewscreen.

“Yes sir, lovely,” he said, trying to sound genuine. Truth was, he couldn’t care less about a cloud formation right now. He most wanted to steal a sleep-inducing hypospray from his mom’s office and get some fucking sleep.

As Data made comments about the nebula’s material makeup and other specifications, Riker stood up straight and beside Wesley for a few moments longer, and then walked back to his chair. A whiff of some sort of musk followed after him. 

Wesley immediately shifted in his seat and tried to think of Klingons eating raw, wriggling _gagh._ Whenever Wesley was made to be an unexpected witness to Commander Riker’s bright, blue eyes and impressive height (and in such close proximity, nonetheless!) he couldn’t help but feel a bit flustered and hot all over. This was hardly ever a good thing, since being anywhere near Riker and the surrounding crew while starting to pop a boner was mortifying to even think about. The idea of mortification, thankfully, killed the mood, and Wesley was once again preoccupied with how tired he was.

The nebula gradually diminished. Picard said, “Take us back up to warp two, Mr. Crusher.”

Wesley “made it so,” and began to zone out again. 

Will Riker looked curiously at the back of the young acting ensign’s head. His face was wan, and his comment on the nebula was half-hearted at best. It threw Riker off a bit to see Wesley so...disinterested. Morning duty shifts had never bothered the boy before, Riker mused. Perhaps he had pulled another all-nighter on a project (hopefully no nanites were involved), or was coming down with the common cold.

 _I’ll keep an eye on him,_ Riker decided. If Wes passed through more shifts like this, he’d have to send the boy’s own mother on a house call. Riker wouldn’t worry too much about it, however; Wesley could take care of himself, after all, just like any other member of the crew. He should check in on how the boy’s studies were going, really - it had been a while. His first officer duties had limited his time and ability for mentoring. Maybe Wesley had too many assignments to work on, and could use Riker’s help on a project. He sure looks like he might need it.

* * *

Instead of grabbing lunch when his duty shift was over, Wesley went straight to his quarters and bed. He stripped off his uniform, hung it up (he wasn’t so tired to leave it on the floor like that), and laid down on top of the covers. Sleep was definitely not going to come, but there was no hurt in creating a simulacrum of unconsciousness to help the process along. Wesley’s hands balled into fists and pushed at his close eyes.

_Two weeks ago, Ten Forward. A lieutenant's birthday celebration is in full swing, open to all crew. Wesley is there, having arrived with bridge crew that had finished their duty shifts._

_He is alone, sitting at a far off table with some new purple drink he had forgotten to ask the name of. Across the room watching people dance, Wesley has set a “politely fun” facial expression behind which he considers leaving in ten or fifteen minutes. He would feel more comfortable working on a project, or literally doing anything other than sitting off in a corner while the older crew mingle and order each other alcoholic beverages, talking about anbo-jitsu matches or past assignments that happened before Wesley was born. Wesley pulled out a PADD containing articles on probability mechanics recommended by Commander Data._

_“What’s an acting ensign like you doing alone at a party?” asks a man. Wesley looks up, and vaguely recognizes him as a recently-transferred lieutenant in Engineering._

_“I come to Ten Forward to relax sometimes,” Wesley says, a little defensively._

_“You don’t seem in the party mood,” the man says, sitting down._

_Wesley puts the PADD on the table and shrugs. “Guess not.”_

_“Well, it’s not all bad. How ‘bout I buy you a drink, help get you in the spirit?” The man’s eyes gaze intently into his, and Wesley tries to swallow around his suddenly dry throat._

_He looks at his half-empty glass of bland purple fizz. “Um, sure.” The man smiles widely at him and turns away to the bar._

_With that smile, Wesley feels the wind knocked out of him._ What the hell is he talking to me for? _he thinks. He tugs at his gray collar, self-consciously._

_The man comes back with two clear drinks, and sets one in front of Wesley. He lifts his in a toast. “To free food and good company,” he says._

_Wesley smiles, and they both take sips of their drinks. Bitter yet citrus-y, Wesley is suspicious that it isn’t completely non-alcoholic. This endears him a little more to the man._

_“You’re new in Engineering, right? I haven’t seen you around much before,” Wesley says, his curiosity getting the best of him._

_“Started on the_ Enterprise _over two months ago,” the says. “I’ve been posted on a few starships before this, the last one a Nova-class science vessel.”_

_“Whoa,” is all Wesley can say._

_They talk a while about warp engines and mechanical theories, but after a while the man, having by now introduced himself as Felton, breaks off with a short laugh. “But what’s the use of talking to you about it, huh? You’re the genius prodigy that could just do all our work down there for us.”_

_Wesley frowns, a bit confused. Who told him that? Sure, Wesley was a little over-eager and desperate to show everyone what he could do during his first year on the ship, but he’s not one to play at being superior around higher-ranking officers._

_“I’d hardly say that.” Wesley awkwardly took a large drink from his glass, mind only getting fuzzier._

_“Nah, don’t be modest. You come in all the time, hanging around La Forge and giving suggestions on how to run things like some teacher’s pet. He thinks highly of you.”_

_Wesley just shrugs, mostly looking down at his glass. He is starting to have a hard time focusing on what Felton is saying._

_“Actually, I’m surprised they’d let such a smug brat run around on this ship at all.” Felton’s voice is low yet sharp, like a stab in the gut._

_Wesley feels dizzy and sick. “Um, I’m sorry you feel - I think I should go…” He tries to get up._

_Felton is suddenly at his arm, pulling him up. “Oh, is that drink not agreeing with you? I really should help you get back to your quarters.”_

_Wesley has little room to disagree, because the lieutenant is now pulling him towards the side door, one of Wesley’s arms thrown across the man’s shoulders._

_“Sorry, I -” Wesley’s mumbling, trying to apologize, shaking his head repeatedly in an attempt to clear it._

_“You’ll be just fine,” Felton says soothingly. The whoosh of doors sound, and they’re in a dimly-lit room with some furniture and art hanging on the walls. Through bleary eyes, Wesley notices they’re not his quarters.  
“What-” _

_Felton silences Wesley with his mouth, a hot and wet, possessive kiss. He breaks off, and drags Wesley over to the couch, as if Wesley has lost the ability to stand by himself. Sluggishly, he watches Felton remove his gray uniform, and then start taking off his underclothes. Wesley tries to stop him, but his arms are too heavy._

_The older man is kissing Wesley’s neck and chest as he takes off his clothes, constantly talking. “You don’t think how I’ve noticed you purposely strutting around whenever I’m around in Engineering? Begging someone to fuck you, with those legs and plush lips? I’ve been waiting for this ever since I first saw you, and now I can give you what you want.”_

_Wesley wants to protest, but his voice is too far away for him to reach._

_“Thinking you’re so superior to everyone else, intentionally pissing me off with your smug attitude and pretentiousness...You’ve just been begging for someone to put you in your place, haven’t you?”_

_By now Wesley is fully nude, spread out on a hard floor. Half asleep, part of him can hear Felton’s words, and that part of him is starting to shake. Hands are on his shoulders, his thighs...lower._

_An object is suddenly forcing itself into Wesley’s mouth. His jaw is held open, so he’s forced to take it. Felton thrusts and moans from above. “Get it slick, that’s right. You’re such a cockslut, look at you. You love this.” Wesley chokes on the man’s cock, desperately trying to breathe through his nose._

_Suddenly it’s gone, but Wesley can hardly take a steadying breath before he’s being turned over and spread open. Wesley cries out as Felton starts entering him. “Ooh, you’re so tight,” he hears. "Mmhmm...take it, twink. You love it.”_

_Deeper the man’s cock goes, and Wesley hardly hears his own whimpers over trying to process the intense pressure and building pain. When Felton is fully in, he begins to thrust, rocking Wesley’s body. “Take it!” he moans, slapping the younger man’s ass. Wesley chokes on the pain and bites his bottom lip, tears rolling down his face. Felton bends forward more, moaning lower, “take my cock, all of it, you love being so full.”_

_The man reaches around and grabs Wesley’s cock, beginning to jerk him off roughly. It hurts, but Wesley becomes most sickened by the waves of pleasure that start flowing through his body. Felton keeps thrusting, but angles himself in a way that starts brushing Wesley’s prostate._

_Wesley moans in spite of himself, and Felton speeds up and thrusts deeper. Wesley shouts, and that only gives Felton further encouragement, even as Wesley swallows a sob. The pleasure is starting to win out over the pain, and Wesley’s cock is rock hard and weeping for release. He doesn’t want this, but his body starts crying out “Yes! YES!” as the thick cock takes him, owns him._

_Felton is breathing more rapidly, and grasps at Wesley’s hair, making him arch his back. Felton smacks his whole length into the boy’s ass, shaking as he cums. Through the pain and pleasure Wesley’s eyes roll back, and he feels the white-hot surge of his own climax. After, there is only the pain, returning tenfold._

_He loses consciousness before he can feel Felton start up again._

Wesley didn’t know if he had actually slept, because it sure as hell hadn’t felt like it, but the sweaty, salty warmth and blurry eyes suggests at the most that he had dozed off a bit. 

For two weeks now Wesley had been trying to push down every second of that night, to bury it alive screaming and cover it up so he wouldn’t be able to hear it. Now he knew that might be impossible.

Wesley couldn’t keep living like this. He had to do something. There were only so many options. After that night, Wesley had woken up in his own quarters, fully dressed and on top of his covers. The evening events could have been explained away as a nightmare, if Wesley’s body hadn’t ached so much. He took a sonic shower and spent the rest of the night curled up in the dark of his room. He had decided, right then, to bury this.

He hadn’t gone to his mother for a medical examination. He didn’t want to talk to Counselor Troi. There was no one he could go to about this, not one person who wouldn’t be disgusted by what he had done. _“The Crusher kid got himself raped,”_ Wesley could vividly imagine the crew saying. _“Why are we letting this weakling kid play at ‘acting ensign’?”_

Wesley now saw his only option glaringly obvious in front of him. The whole situation wouldn’t have happened if Wesley hadn’t gone to that party, and hadn’t provoked that man. Wesley had created this situation for himself.

_“Strutting around...begging someone to fuck you...to put you in your place…”_

Wesley hadn’t thought the attraction he felt towards other crewmen was obvious. Had he been deluding himself? Was he that sexually ignorant?

_“I can give you what you want...You love this.”_

And if Wesley hadn’t been such a whore, encouraging Felton by his arousal, it would have stopped sooner. It would have stopped.

This was all Wesley’s fault, and he deserved it. Felton had been right.

After a few minutes of inquiry with the computer, Wesley discovered when Lieutenant Felton was on duty and where his quarters were.


	3. Mistake

Wesley had washed up, and gone to Lt. Felton’s quarters. The older man looked surprised for a second to see him standing there, but then he grinned ferociously.

“Want more, huh?”

Wesley glanced at him, but then lowered his gaze. He clenched his fists.

“Come on, then,” and Felton pulled him in. 

Once they were inside, Felton kept walking toward a kitchenette area. “Care for a drink? Water?”

Wesley didn’t say anything, but shook his head.

Felton leveled his gaze at him. “Just hungry for some cock, huh? I figured that once you’d gotten a taste, you’d never be the same again. Realized your full purpose as a really great fucktoy.”

Felton sauntered up, invading Wesley’s space. “And you’re definitely a good fuck.” He lifted Wesley’s chin. “One of the best I’ve ever had.”

The words seemed to be pulled out of Wesley. “What are you waiting for, then?”

So Felton grabbed Wesley, turned him around, and fucked him like that against the wall. The older man denied himself no vicious pleasure, but made absolutely sure that Wesley was making some noise.

He sucked at the back of Wesley’s neck, fucking into him deep and slow. “You like that? Tell me you do.”

Wesley whimpered, and Felton thrust harder. “I don’t hear you.” He palmed the younger man’s cock.

Wesley’s eyes were wide and he was breathing rapidly. His mind had submitted to full sensation. Grabbing on to Wesley’s neck, Felton starts slowing his speed, and comes with a low moan.

“Come for me, slut,” Felton panted. “Come for my thick cock making you its bitch.”  
Wesley squirmed, and the man grasped his cock and jerked it expertly; the next thing Wesley knew he was seeing stars.

Coming down from the high. The two breathed heavily, and Felton smacked Wesley’s ass. “You felt damn good. Keep coming around if you want more. I also outrank you, so don’t make me order you back,” he said, winking. Felton was putting his uniform back on, and Wesley did the same. He adjusted his collar and ran a hand through his hair. Still breathing raggedly, he started out without making eye contact. 

“Keep that ass tight, wonder boy” the man called after him. Wesley got out of there.

* * *

Finally alone, sitting in the quiet of a single-person lab room. Wesley hunched over some plant samples he was testing for a genetic engineering project. The plants were only second generation, so not much to record. That was fine. Wesley was just glad to be in solitude, nothing but the light whirring of the fan in the fume hood to keep him company. He had avoided crowded, noisy places like Ten Forward for weeks now.

He had slept last night, but fitfully. After his...time with Felton, Wesley was tired and hungry, having hardly eaten anything all day. He had a cold dinner out of a replicator, took a long sonic shower, and stayed in the rest of the evening. As a result he woke up earlier today, and so he left a note for his mother saying that he had already had breakfast and was going to do some labwork before his duty shift.

Wesley couldn’t sugarcoat it for himself. He still felt like shit. Yesterday, he had taken control of his situation, had made the decision to seek out Felton. Why hadn’t it felt like it had balanced out the first time? Why couldn’t he just be happy with the fact that someone on this ship wanted him? Wesley had “fuckable lips” and was “a good lay.” Any 17-year-old should feel over the moon to hear this from an older, confident man.

These feelings didn’t make any sense. He shouldn’t feel bad about this. _It’s as good as you’re ever going to get._

 _You don’t know that,_ Wesley glumly argued with himself.

 _Please,_ mocked a cold, internal voice. _Who wants a skinny, awkward kid with a superiority complex around? Everyone hates how smart you are, and how you think you’re so much better than everyone else._

_I don’t think that at all._

_Fucking liar. Other people can see the truth. They hate having some know-it-all kid around._

Wesley didn’t know how to refute that.

_You think you’re Mr. Perfect, but it’s sad how you can’t see the truth: that you are unwanted, expendable, and really only useful for a good fuck._

One of the plants croaked, indicating that it had reached a peak in its life cycle and ready for reproduction. Wesley looked at it flatly, and then started shelving them all away. He would just pollinate them later. The sooner he could get this day over with, the better.

* * *

“Suzie, have you heard anything from Wesley yet?” 

Suzanne Dumont was walking down the hall with her friend Janille, and shook herself out of her reverie to look at her short companion.

“Oh. No, I haven’t heard from him,” Suzanne answered. He had skipped out on their date three days ago, and hadn’t even bothered to cancel with her. Hadn’t even bothered to give her any excuse, days later. She felt bitterly disappointed, but not fully surprised.

“After our movie date, he said that he had a good time,” Janille said. “The next time he saw me, said he just wanted to be friends.”

Suzanne sighed. “Yeah, it sucks.” _Thanks for reminding me that he doesn’t even care about my feelings enough to ‘just be friends.’_

“Probably just busy with school stuff…” Suzanne trailed off, spotting a familiar gray suit and brown hair a little ways down the hallway. She ran ahead, waving off Janille’s curious exclamations.

“Hey, Wesley! Wes!” Suzanne called after him. He turned and stopped to look at her.

“What happened with the date? Why didn’t you contact me?” Suzanne thought it best to be straightforward, but her voice almost faltered when she looked at Wes. He had shadows under his eyes, and his face was really drawn. When was the last time he had gotten some sleep?

“I’m sorry, Suzanne - I’ve been so busy lately, it really just fell out of my mind to call you. I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” Wesley looked pained, and his hands nervously twitched at his sides. 

“Oh - um, no problem, I guess,” Suzanne said, thrown off by how wretched Wesley seemed about it. “I’ll be fine. Take it easy, okay?”

Wesley nodded, still looking at her nervously, and she waved good-bye. “See ya.”

Wesley hurried on his way to the turbolift, so he’d be on time. He was usually pretty fucking punctual, but it seemed that some sort of self-sabotaging mechanism had been triggered in Wesley that wanted to see how far he could push his limits.

On the bridge, just barely making 0800. Data was already there, and he nodded to Wesley. Captain Picard and Commander Riker were just emerging from the ready room. 

“Mr. Crusher, set a course for the Odonisa system, warp five," Picard stated crisply.

“Aye, Captain,” Wesley called back, and did his job.

 _Suzanne clearly hates me now,_ Wesley reprimanded himself as he tapped the controls. _I don’t blame her._

“Engage.” They went to warp.

_I’m such a fuck-up. If only I could date sweet girls like mom expects me to. Suzanne would be disgusted if she knew the truth about me._

Activity continued on the bridge, but Wesley felt disconnected from it all, as if sealed away inside some soundproof box. It hurt to shift in his seat, or move his neck too quickly. Bruises on his body would remind him daily of who he really was, of what he was really worth.

 _I did this,_ Wesley thought grimly. _And I can't escape it._


	4. Discovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: contains final explicit rape scene of the story.

Eating a meager breakfast alone in the Crusher quarters, Wesley faintly considered how sore his shell of a body felt, and hunched further over his meal. If he could keep sleeping, he would. His insomnia and night terrors had been replaced the last few weeks by deep, all-consuming sleep, a sleep Wesley could hardly pull himself out of when his duty shifts required him to. His mother always left for her shifts an hour or two ahead of him, depending on what needed to be done that day in sickbay, so Wesley frequently slept through breakfast before hurrying off on his day’s tasks. However, Dr. Crusher had been leaving a little late today, and woke Wesley up with a replicated breakfast before a rushed goodbye. This meant she would work late: an opportune time to see Felton after his shift.

In a way, Wesley felt wanted. The lieutenant never turned him away when he would show up to the older man’s quarters, and the pleasure Wesley elicited in him seemed to make up for the neglectful apathy of everyone else. 

Wesley could see clearer and clearer how nobody really wanted him around. Recently, he had stopped asking La Forge about a warp core experiment he had wanted to do for months, and the lieutenant commander was probably feeling like a pesky fly had finally stopped buzzing around his visor. Wesley had given up sending Picard updates for all his assignments, each report like neat little ducks in a row heading straight for the academy. It was good, by-the-book procedure to submit updates to one’s commanding officer, but really it was passable to make one big summary report when finishing something up. 

This was how Wesley was doing it now, not only because he had such little energy these days to bother with trivial reports, but he had also felt like an ass every time he would send along an update to Captain Picard or even Commander Riker, who used to oversee his assignments and show (feign) more interest in what Wesley was working on. Who did Wes think he was, to bother anyone with his dumb projects? The senior officers had far more important missions and assignments to be concerned with, and it’s not like real ensigns or other crewmen wanted to talk to the kid who hasn’t even gone to Starfleet Academy yet.

Spoon poked at his hot oats. Sighing with a touch of resignation, Wesley recycled his unfinished breakfast. He debated more about seeing Felton later. Engineering had been busier the last three days doing patch-up jobs after a recent mission involving hostile aliens intent on poaching the _Enterprise_ ’s warp core. Wesley hadn’t seen the man in a full two days, and their last encounter had only been time enough for a sloppy blow-job (Wesley was still getting used to the lieutenant's forceful way of doing things, and this especially included how he very specifically wanted his dick sucked). 

Even though it never felt good afterward, Wesley was craving to be filled again, to have those prolonged moments after penetration when he was being claimed by another person. That was the best part, even before either of them came; it felt like being needed, if not necessarily wanted.

Wesley changed from his baggy sleeping clothes to his gray uniform and carried on with his day, continuing his required schoolwork before heading to his post-lunch shift at the conn. 

He seemed to be losing interest in his courses with increasing rapidity, but they weren’t all so difficult and he could usually force himself to do the work. In his hand was a PADD with a half-written history essay about early propulsion systems. This topic used to be immensely enjoyable for him to research, but the words he would now scan were so flat in comparison to the activity of the ship unfolding around him, activity that he couldn’t fully participate in without feeling guilty. 

More often than not, he felt in the way. Nobody ever said to Wesley directly that he doesn’t belong on the bridge, but it was an obvious, inevitable reaction to his presence. The crew were just being professional when choosing to ignore Wesley - it was the most polite thing they could do.

Letting thoughts like these slosh around his head and seep into his brain, Wesley walked up to a turbolift. The doors slid open, and Counselor Troi stood inside.

“Bridge also?” she asked. Wesley nodded, stepping in farthest from the counselor. 

“Resume.”

His hands unconsciously fluttered around his PADD, starting to fiddle with it as the two rode to the bridge.

“How have you been doing lately, Wesley?” Troi suddenly asked, glancing over at him. He returned her gaze for a second before looking away. It made him uncomfortable how intense and probing her dark eyes were.

“Fine. Been busy,” Wesley said, trying to sound casual.

“I see,” she replied. He couldn’t read her face; it seemed impassive.

_Polite_ , Wesley thought. _Well, I guess it’s not so bad for the only words she’s said to me in several days._ Wesley never had much excuse to talk to Troi anyway, but he especially tried to avoid her recently. His feelings were his own, and he hated that she had the ability to look into his so invasively with such ease.

They exited off onto the bridge, and Wesley took his seat. Things went mostly uneventful. Wesley input commands and did the rest on mental autopilot. 

Later, Wesley walked on his own down a hallway, mildly making sure no one else was around. 

“Computer, locate Lieutenant Felton,” Wesley directed to a side panel.

“Lieutenant Anthony Felton is in his quarters,” the computer responded.

As usual, that was enough for him to go off of. Wesley stopped by his own quarters to drop off his com badge (just in case his mother happened to check his location) and then left, as around the ship the next shift settled into their work stations.

* * *

“Counselor Troi, if I could speak to you in private,” Riker said, catching up to Deanna down a hallway as the duty shift broke for dinner.

“Of course, Commander,” Deanna replied. She looked up at him as he walked beside her. “I was just going to have dinner in my quarters, would you care to join me?”

“Perhaps for a bite,” Riker said, smiling slightly. They walked together.

It had been an uneventful day, as the ship ran a routine supply shipment to two Federation colonies. Deanna had enjoyed meeting some of the colonists that helped in the supply transfers; they were emotionally straightforward, positive-minded people. It always added a little bit of a spring to her step to be around those kinds of people. Also, the shipment proceedings had distracted her from some...residual negative energy she had been getting on the bridge.

Once they entered Troi’s quarters, Riker leaned against the back of a dining room chair, and Deanna went ahead to replicate some dinner. She turned back to find him gazing off into the middle distance fixedly, as if thinking hard about something. He radiated unease, worry, and uncertainty. It took a moment for Deanna to orient herself around these emotions, finding an internal stability to calmly counsel from. She set down their two bowls of steaming tomato-based stew.

“What’s on your mind, Will?” 

Riker seemed a little restless, but he sat down anyway. He sighed heavily.

“I’ve been worried lately about our young acting ensign,” Riker finally said, as if it was a secret that he was at last letting out. 

Deanna nodded. She hesitated, but decided to hold off her recent experiences. “Tell me why you’ve been worried about him.”

Riker frowned. “Have you noticed something different about him? On the bridge he seems sort of...detached. He used to get so excited by any new thing we’d come across, but lately I don’t think I’ve even seen him _smile_.”

He leaned forward, speaking with a low urgency. “Sometimes I’ll see him with a look on his face as if he’s in pain or something, before he goes blank again. For weeks now he’s hardly said two words outside of confirming commands, and then I rarely see him around the ship when he’s not on duty.”

“Perhaps he’s been especially busy with his coursework,” Deanna suggested. “Maybe he’s stressed.”

Riker shook his head, emitting a surge of frustration. “That’s just it - Wesley practically loves doing work. He takes pride in it, and if his workload has increased recently, he’d look forward to the challenge. That’s another odd thing: I can usually spot him, on any given day, studying in Ten Forward. And I’m _absolutely_ sure that I haven’t seen him there lately, for at least a month.”

“That is odd,” Deanna murmured, looking down at her folded hands. Riker caught her eye.

“You’ve noticed something too, haven’t you?” he asked.

She hesitated to deliberate a moment before giving in. “I find it a bit invasive and unprofessional to discuss the private feelings of a crewmember with anyone other than that person, especially without expressing our concern to him first. However, I’ve been trying to give Wesley time - I wanted to see if he would come to me first about whatever is upsetting him.”

“And?”

“Nothing. Even when I prompted Beverly about how he’s been doing lately, she gave no indication that her son is going through a rough time.”

“So you have noticed he’s upset?” Riker asked.

“Yes,” Deanna admitted. “It’s uncomfortably noticeable, from my perspective. After a while, once I get attuned to his presence, his emotional static becomes a background hum. Weeks ago, I noticed it as a more minor jumble of emotions: worry, uncertainty, discomfort, anger, guilt. All muffled under a conscious effort to suppress the feelings.”

“These feelings have been sustained for a while now?”

“In a way,” Deanna started slowly. “If anything, they seem to be getting more intense. Wesley seems to be doing his best to ignore his emotions, but that’s undoubtedly only making them worse. I can’t imagine what he’s going through to feel the need to disconnect from his feelings.”

Upon seeing Riker’s worried expression, Deanna tried to reassure him.

“Wesley is a full-human adolescent, and perhaps I can’t fully understand how he may be feeling,” she sighed. “You remember - the years of one’s adolescence are extremely difficult, because you’re no longer a child physically, but the emotional, mental, and intellectual maturity needed for the responsibilities of adulthood are still catching up.”

“Wesley’s one of the most intellectually mature teenagers I’ve ever met. I think he’s incredibly well-adjusted on the _Enterprise_.”

“Considering the loss of his father when he was young, I think it helped him mature faster than his peers - but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t go through the same troubles and trials as other adolescents. Hormones, physical changes, social concerns.”

“Perhaps the nadir of his teenage years has caught up with him...If that’s the case, this could just be a normal bit of angst he’s going through,” Riker suggested.

Deanna frowned. “I suppose. I want to meet with him, but I’m so close to his mother that I don’t think he’ll be as willing to open up to me.”

After a moment, Riker cracked a half-smile. “You want me to go talk to him.”

“He trusts you, Will,” Deanna reasoned. “And I know he’s always looked up to you. Since you’re more of a mentor or friend to him than just an authority figure, Wesley might be more willing to confide in you.”

“Alright,” Riker agreed. “I’ll have him meet me this evening in Ten Forward, or perhaps the holodeck if he wants somewhere less public. Then depending on what the problem is, hopefully I can help in some way.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Deanna said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Let me know later if you need any advice to pass on, for Wesley’s benefit.”

“Of course,” he replied. A look of worry briefly passed over his face, but it passed away and he continued to eat his soup.

* * *

When Wesley reached Lieutenant Felton’s quarters, the doors slide open with ease. Usually Felton seemed to always know when Wesley was arriving. However, Wesley was surprised that while Felton was there, he wasn’t alone.

“Hey kid,” Felton called to him, and grinned. “I couldn’t keep you to myself. My buddy here is pretty curious.”

The man in yellow was far less familiar to Wesley - he might have seen him once or twice, if at all. He seemed to be a little younger than Felton, but still in his mid-20s. One pip at his collar ranked him as an ensign. 

Wesley suddenly felt cold. The implication settled in as both men smirked, staring at him. “Um -” he swallowed. “I...don’t think I can do that.”

He fidgeted by the door. He wanted to leave, but a look from Felton held him to his spot.

“Of course you can,” Felton said soothingly, the words holding no soothing effect. Walking over, he clapped his hand on Wesley’s shoulder. Wesley felt weighed down by his touch.

“You’ll do what you do best, okay?” And with a hard look, Felton pushed Wesley down onto his knees in front of him. The older man kept his grip on Wesley’s shoulder even as his cock slid into his mouth, rocking him into a back-and-forth rhythm.

“The slut seems a bit shy,” Felton’s friend commented, but Felton just grunted and said “you gotta warm him up a bit.”

During moments like these, Wesley would usually empty his head. But the worry over the other man was making him tense, and in Felton’s grip he felt the hopelessness of the situation course through his body.

The other man walked around and behind, outside of Wesley’s vision, but he almost didn’t notice, since he was concentrating on trying to suck off Felton with enough technique to not get hit. Cold hands started to pull off Wesley’s uniform, and he gave a muffled yelp, but the hands kept going. They stroked his naked legs.

“Ooh, he is soft,” the man said. Wesley was stuck bobbing his head around Felton’s cock in a disjointed rhythm as the man stuck his fingers into Wesley’s ass, one by one.

“Oh, I don’t have the patience for this,” Wesley heard moaned behind him, and without any preparation the man forced himself inside.

Wesley’s moaned in pain, but Felton just tightened his other hand in Wesley’s hair. Grunted something about his “wonder boy.” Searing, tearing force started up a slow rhythm inside Wesley that punctuated the background of obscene slurping sounds. Eventually, Felton and his friend matched their rhythms, and Wesley was pounded between the two like some inanimate sex doll. Below the moans and exclamations of pleasure from the two men, Wesley began to sob and shake. He squeezed his eyes shut. It felt fruitless to even wish for it all to stop.

After an agonizingly indeterminate amount of time for the young man, both men gradually came. Instead of forcing Wesley to swallow like he usually does, Felton sprayed his load of cum on the young man’s face. His friend barked a laugh, and soon came with halting jerks, digging his nails deep into the flesh of Wesley’s hips.

Still crying, Wesley half-laid on the floor. Felton had pulled out and started stroking himself again, but his friend remained obtrusively inside of Wesley even after he had finished pumping his cum. 

“You think he’s warmed up?” The other man said to Felton, practically purring.

* * *

Will Riker had finished dinner with the counselor and had returned to his quarters, but all he could do was pace and think about what Deanna had told him.

Not only had Wesley been upset for weeks, but he’s been feeling even worse as time goes on. How is that possible? Riker had assumed that the young ensign had gotten into an argument with a friend, or even a fist-fight. 

Riker had been mildly concerned about Wesley’s behavior the last few weeks, but his suspicion had been recently amplified when he noticed a bruise on the back of Wesley’s neck. He didn’t ask, because he didn’t want to embarrass the young man in front of the bridge crew, and it could have easily been a holodeck accident or some commonplace bump in a doorway. 

But then Wesley started acting so reticent, and timid, and tired. Not only was this personally concerning to Riker, but as first officer of the ship, he felt that it was his duty to make sure the entire crew were physically and mentally fit for the job, and emotional stability seemed to be involved in that too.

Perhaps he should have had a word with Wesley sooner. He knew that Wesley looked up to him, and he didn’t want to embarrass the ensign by expressing unsound concern. Given Counselor Troi’s testimony, however, this didn’t seem like a problem that would solve itself. Whatever the problem was, Wesley probably had too much pride to tell anyone about it, and so he wasn’t getting the help he needed. Riker would just be upfront with him. By treating him like an adult, hopefully Wes would be just as honest with Riker.

Riker stopped pacing and tapped his com badge. “Riker to Ensign Crusher.”

No response. 

“Computer, locate Wesley Crusher.”

The automated voice answered, “Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher is in his quarters.”

 _Sleeping?_ Riker thought. But it was hardly past 1900 hours. Any other reason didn’t make sense for why he didn’t reply - and even if he were sleeping, Wesley would have sprung awake to answer in case he was needed on the bridge.

Riker immediately left for the Crusher quarters.

* * *

When they had finally finished with Wesley, Felton and his friend created an independent site-to-site transport so there would be less likelihood of someone running into the young man. They cleaned him up and roughly put his clothes back on, but as it was, Wesley could hardly stand by himself. There was no way he’d be able to get to a turbolift and his quarters as he usually did.

Felton held Wesley up by gripping his upper arm, as his friend fine-tuned the transport device. “Your quarters will be right there, okay? You’re going to get in without speaking to anyone, then get a long night’s sleep.”

When the young man just sniffled, Felton shook him. “You got it, whore?”

Wesley nodded, and glanced at the man’s hard eyes. Next thing he knew, he was collapsing in the bright hallway outside his quarters’ entrance.

* * *

Riker was nearing the Crusher quarters when he saw Wesley suddenly appear in the hallway, and immediately crumple to the floor.

“Wes!” Riker closed the remaining distance in seconds, crouching on the floor next to the ensign. 

Riker gripped Wesley’s shoulder and checked his pulse - heart rate fast. And not totally unconscious - his eyes were half-closed, squinting against the light. Riker took in Wesley’s exhausted face, sweaty forehead, disheveled hair - his uniform was rumpled, too. 

“Wes, can you hear me?” Riker asked urgently.

Wesley opened his eyes more, and looked up at Riker with an utterly drained expression. He didn’t look fully cognizant. _What the hell is wrong?_ Riker thought anxiously.

“Commander?” 

Riker started to lift the younger man, but Wesley cringed and tried to pull away.

“I need to take you to sickbay,” Riker said. 

“I don’t need sickbay,” Wesley feebly argued, grimacing. He gathered himself up to his knees, holding his side, and used his other hand to lean against the wall as he stood up. 

“Tell me what’s going on then. Why did you leave your com badge in your quarters, and what was that site-to-site transport?”

Wesley didn’t answer, but he began to shake. Tears fell silently down his face. He closed his eyes as he leaned against the wall.

“Wes?” The edge of concern returned to Riker’s voice, and he spoke softer, almost pleading. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Wesley squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, gasping against a small sob before clasping a hand over his mouth. He slid down to the floor and tucked his limbs close to his body, staring ahead unseeing as his eyes became blurry with tears.

At this sight, Riker could only stare worriedly. Watching the young man break down like this was deeply troubling, especially when he had never seen Wesley get more than mildly upset over anything.

“Riker to sickbay. Medical emergency.”

“Crusher here. What’s happened, Commander?”

“Beverly, it’s Wesley. I found him outside your quarters; he’s very upset but refuses to come with me to sickbay.”

Her voice stiffened with worry. “Should I send a team?”

Looking over at Wesley, Riker saw that his big, teary eyes were staring up at Riker.

“No, I’ll bring him over,” Riker said. He also told her to prepare something calming or sleep-inducing for when they get there.

“Okay, let’s go,” Riker said firmly, and without waiting for an answer he wrapped an arm under Wesley and lifted him, and Wesley hissed in pain at the sudden movement. They walked towards a turbolift and Riker half-carried Wesley, who was limping and wincing with every step. He breathed quickly, and Riker worried about him passing out.

By the time they were nearing sickbay, Wesley’s panicked breathing had slowed, and he was very nearly unconscious. They crossed the threshold, and Riker gestured to a medic to sedate the young man in his arms. Instantly after the touch of the hypospray, Wesley slumped fully unconscious. Riker helped carry him to a biobed.

Dr. Crusher rushed beside them. She hovered anxiously over her son where he lay, her eyes quickly assessing every inch of him before settling on his drawn complexion. “What happened?”

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Riker explained, speaking low. “But I think he was attacked. He collapsed outside the doors when I saw him, and then held his side and was limping when I stood him up. I had to help him walk. He panicked when I mentioned bringing him here.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Dr. Crusher said, already going into doctor mode and quickly scanning her son for injury assessment. “I’ll take things from here and keep you notified.”

Riker nodded, willing to leave the family alone. Wesley was in good hands, and they would find out what had happened soon enough.

He was already out the sickbay doors when Beverly gasped. Reading the data and overtaken by horror, she continued to scan her son; with each passing second, the implications of the story the tricorder was laying out solidified, corresponding to a growing weight on Beverly's heart.


	5. Aftermath

Dr. Beverly Crusher, in the fews hours after her son arrived, felt like reality had upended itself. It was like something from a nightmare.

With immense effort, she tried to see Wesley as just another patient. Beverly ordered her team to do most of the work, after she had assessed the injuries. They worked to regenerate deeply bruised tissue. Many older bruises blotched Wesley’s skin, but newer ones of purples and reds showed up all over his body: small ones that peppered his hips, and larger blue ones wrapped around his arms. 

After the larger wounds had been treated, Dr. Crusher had two of her team specialized in their field to perform a sexual assault assessment, privately. They would do a head-to-toe inspection and collect any foreign DNA. 

As this took place, Beverly went to wait in her office. She sat in her chair, and could only fold her hands over her mouth and stare into the middle distance with that set countenance of worry that had invaded her whole being since the start of this.

Beverly’s thoughts dwelled on those older bruises, and the evidence of wounds only half-healed by a dermal regenerator. Closer inspection indicated that his arms might have had some deep cuts, and abrasions consistent with rug burn. Not all of those wounds could have been inflicted today. What in the world had happened to her son, and why hadn’t he told her?

The worry blocked out most of the other feeling, a feeling that had started to nag at the center of her chest: guilt. If she wasn’t so tired, and her thoughts more stable than a blur, Beverly would been flooding herself with the self-reproach that comes with letting yourself neglect and inadvertently hurt the person in your life you love the most.

How many times had she been sitting in this very office while Wesley had been hurting somewhere, needing the love and sympathy of another person?

* * *

Wesley gradually came to awareness, emerging from a very heavy sleep. He opened his eyes a bit, and ceiling lights glared down on him. His stiff back lay flat atop a firm biobed. This was a small, private area in the sickbay, and after several seconds of confusion and squinting against the lights, Wesley started to remember why he was there. 

Riker had found him, after Wesley’s utterly stupid mistake. He should have made sure Felton had been alone, and then later he should have made sure he wouldn’t get caught returning to his room. Wesley’s breathing hitched when he thought of how angry Felton was going to be.

Not only had Wesley messed up in that regard ( _hands pinned behind his back, words demanding “You don’t tell anyone” punctuated by a tightening grip_ ), but if his mother had examined him, then she and Riker knew. And they had probably told the other senior officers. He was in deep shit as soon as Riker had found him, but after being taken to sickbay, his life was definitely over. Now the senior staff would be trying to figure out how to get rid of him.

Wesley tried to think more about what he could have done differently. He should have tried to convince Riker more - taken him into his quarters and offered himself up to keep Riker quiet. The idea made Wesley feel sick. Not exactly because he thought Riker wasn’t the type to get involved in that kind of thing, but because he knew Riker would have rejected Wesley’s offer out of disgust. 

The only person who wanted Wesley was Felton, and even then Wesley had trouble keeping the man pleased - anything Wesley did didn’t seem to be right, and with every order and bruising grip he would try to be better. All Wesley had to offer was “a good fuck,” but even that he could hardly do right. 

At least Felton always wanted him back. Bringing another man into the picture was just another thing Felton liked and wanted Wesley to like too. If he hadn’t resisted as much, they wouldn’t have been as rough, and Wesley wouldn’t have ended up in so much pain collapsing in the hallway before he could reach safe, secret solitude. In Felton’s quarters, some stupid shred of mistaken self-respect had made Wesley hesitate, and now he had ruined everything.

His days as acting ensign were over. He would be relieved of duty, and dropped at a starbase somewhere. His mom was probably disgusted and humiliated by what Wesley had gotten himself into. She would have difficulty living down the embarrassment. 

Wesley curled onto one side, wrapping his arms around his waist, as he felt overcome by the shame. He let this happen, and now he would be deemed too weak and pathetic to ever become a Starfleet officer, let alone return to the _Enterprise_.

Worst of all, he knew that people would be relieved to get rid of him. Any semblance of respect he had earned from his superiors would be gone.

Wesley laid there in his lone biobed, feeling helpless as his dreary future loomed near. That occasional companion of dark thoughts that fed on his suffering, yet paradoxically sustained Wesley due to its strength, now whispered in his ear a cheerful gloat:

_You really are nothing but a worthless slut. You deserve this._

* * *

A few hours after leaving sickbay, Riker sat alone in the conference lounge reading over reports that had to be ready for the Captain the next day. His mind would occasionally wander, but it was best for him to try to keep occupied. 

Just as Riker was considering dropping into sickbay, his com badge sounded.

“Crusher to Commander Riker.”

“Yes, Dr. Crusher?” Riker asked.

“I need to see you in sickbay,” came the weary voice. 

“Right away,” Riker responded, already making his way out of the room.

When he arrived in sickbay, some of Dr. Crusher’s team medics were idling around, seeming to just be doing their ordinary tasks. Beverly came up to Riker and nodded tersely.

“My office, please.”

Riker followed behind her, remaining standing as Dr. Crusher went around her desk and leaned against it, sighing heavily. She looked up at Riker with a pained, world-weary expression he had never seen on her before.

“How is he?” Riker asked, after a pause.

“He’s resting at the moment,” she replied. “But I don’t know how he’ll be doing mentally. Physically, we healed him the best we could.”

At Riker’s concerned, questioning look, she sighed, looked Riker in the eye levelly, and elaborated.

“He was sexually assaulted, and evidence suggests this wasn’t the only time. Several bruises all over his body, minor abrasions and tissue damage, all point to repeated abuse. It frightens me to think about how long this could have been going on.”

Riker was too shocked for a few moments to find any words. “...How? Who?”

“That’s what I need you to find out,” Beverly said. “You mentioned evidence of a site-to-site transport. Have Lieutenant La Forge help trace where it came from. In the meantime, we have DNA tests running. As it’s likely personnel, we should have a match very soon.”

Riker nodded, beginning to feel red-hot anger boil up inside him, spilling over and filling his heart and head with vicious visions of vengeance. “As soon as we have answers, we’ll let you know. Keep me apprised; we’ll send security on this bastard as soon as possible.”

Dr. Crusher grimaced and nodded.

* * *

After Riker left, Beverly walked over to the partitioned area where her son lay sleeping. They had cleaned him up after the tests, and Beverly had even combed through his hair a bit - she knew he was particular about looking professional in his acting officer duties. 

When Beverly peered behind the curtain, she was surprised to see Wesley awake, and her heart ached at the sight of him. He laid on his side, arms crossed around himself, eyes squeezed shut. It was like he was a little boy again, during the weeks after Jack’s death when he was plagued by nightmares and needed to be consoled. 

“Wesley?” Beverly said softly, walking over to him with a slow, careful step. Wesley’s tense posture eased a bit and he opened his eyes.

“Mom?” His voice cracked a bit.

“That’s right. I’m right here, and you’re safe in sickbay. No one’s going to hurt you,” Beverly kept her voice smooth, trying to contain the sadness, guilt, and anger all pushing to be expressed. Wesley needed strength and reassurance right now, just like those post-nightmare times she had held him in her cold, lonely bed, pushing down her own grief to comfort her son. 

She brushed her hand lightly over one his hands, and when he didn’t flinch away, she gripped his hand in her own. He looked away from her but held her hand tightly, and started to work his jaw against tears.

“I’m sorry,” Wesley said in a voice almost too small to hear.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Beverly said firmly. “This wasn’t your fault. Whatever situation you were forced into, it was the adult and not you that had the responsibility to put an end to it.”

Wesley looked away, and tears started to flow freely down his face.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” Beverly soothed. She smoothed his hair and wiped away some of his tears with her thumb. He closed his eyes and held her other hand with both of his own.

They stayed like that for a while, mother and son. Wesley’s tears began to slowly ebb away. Exhaustion spread over his features.

“You can rest,” Beverly reassured him. “I’ll be right here.” She stroked his damp cheek, and Wesley nodded after a moment. 

He closed his eyes, and immediately fell asleep.

Beverly sat down beside the biobed, her hand still clasped in Wesley’s. His breathing became slow and even. Listening to him slip peacefully into sleep, Beverly knew she wouldn’t be leaving his side any time soon.


End file.
